


The Game

by Omninerd90



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Porn Without Plot, Sex, Smut, mild noncon roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 11:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18093278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omninerd90/pseuds/Omninerd90
Summary: A young mage finds herself in a precarious situation after making a deal with a certain witcher. ;)





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is an *extremely* long overdue request fic for a friend. Hopefully you all enjoy it as much as she did!

The air was warm and thick, a heavy blanket left over from the glare of the summer sun.  Nights never really got cool in the summer… only darker.

The one reprieve was the gentle breeze that billowed in through the open window.  It crept in from the night in gentle gusts, fluttering the brightly patterned scarves that hung in place of curtains.  Floral perfumes made the room feel heady, exotic.  Her mother had already remarked more than once that it felt less like the room of a diligent scholar… more like the room of a courtesan.  The last time she’d told her that, Shira had agreed.  Two weeks later she’d had two new tapestries delivered, along with a rather sensual statuette to stand guard near her desk.

Her mother hadn’t come to visit since.

Shira could feel the creep of droplets inching down her arms, sweat mixed with perfumed oils.  It put her in mind of teasing fingertips… light touches taking liberties.  It wouldn’t be long before he returned.  She didn’t have much time.

She pulled at the ropes that bound her wrists; he’d left her tethered to the support beam.  She inwardly cursed the architect who had designed this room… though if it weren’t the beam, it likely would have been the bed, and she wasn’t certain that was any better.  Her arms stretched overhead, high enough that she needed to stand on her tiptoes.  Not a lot of leverage for movement there, but then that was the idea.  He didn’t want her able to move around more than an inch or two.

Her hands he’d completely bound in linen, wrapped tight like those of a mummified corpse.  There’d be no point in restraining her if she’d been able to snap the smooth cords with a single gesture.  Somatic spells were her specialty.  She was still learning (always learning), but she was good enough to be able to conjure fire with a flick of the wrist, or manipulate small objects (like a rope) with little effort.

She practiced verbal spells less—she saw little point in casting a spell an opponent could overhear—but he’d tied a scarf over her mouth as well.  The witcher was not one to leave anything up to chance.

She tugged a little more, wishing she were just an inch or so lower.  He’d shown a lot of forethought in binding her hands, but he’d neglected her nightly routine… her fingers were slick with oils that she used to keep her skin soft and supple.  “Preserving the instruments” was how she normally referred to it.  The linen binding slipped just a little bit each time she tugged against the ropes.  Just a bit more and she’d be free…

She stiffened when she heard the door to her room open.   _Damn it._  She had taken too long.

She stared into the darkness past the open window, her heart seeming to beat in time with the quiet footsteps that approached at her back.  She could hardly hear it when he walked.  If she hadn’t been listening for it, she would’ve missed it entirely.  It wouldn’t do for a hunter to tromp about like a drunken bull, she supposed.

“Still here?”  The gruff voice was amused.  “Thought you’d have gotten free by now.”

He emerged into her line of sight.  He was shirtless; she could see many years’ worth of scars crossing his chest and arms, their lines made harsher in the shadows cast from the lamps.  Each one was a testament to his deadly skill in combat.  He had bested many things, human and monster alike, all much stronger than her. 

She tried to growl a retort around her gag and earned a chuckle in response.  He watched her closely with those odd cats’ eyes, following the curves of her body through the thin material of her nightshift.  Word had it that those eyes allowed him to see things ordinary humans couldn’t.  Her shift didn’t hide much, but his scrutiny made her feel bared to the world… she may as well have been standing there naked.

She had no doubt of that being his plan exactly.

She pulled a little more at her bonds, unable to stand there quiet and still while he shamelessly feasted his eyes upon her.  He clucked his tongue in response.

“You’re not leaving anytime soon.”  He reached out to run his fingertips down the side of her neck, brushing down by her collarbone.  “A deal’s a deal; you’re mine until dawn.”

His fingertips were rough… callused from years of fighting and hard living.  His touch made it hard for her to think.  She exhaled slowly through her nose, head dropping forward and spilling curls the color of dark caramel into her eyes.  The magic that flowed through him gave an odd vibrating sensation to every caress.  A trait every witcher shared, if the rumors were to be believed.  It wasn’t unpleasant… far from it, actually.  But she needed to focus if she was going to get out of this.

Geralt took a step closer, drawing his hand down to cup around her breast.  His hands were so big… he could easily palm her, the tips of his fingers curling into her ribcage.  He made her own hands seem childlike in comparison.  She supposed that was why he was better suited to wield a sword; she would have to content herself with mastering the arcane.

His other hand trailed up the side of her leg… he pulled her shift upwards to bare her skin to the night air.  The sudden exposure made her squirm.  She was no blushing virgin, but still she reacted to that instinctive modesty drilled into every woman, just for a moment.  She wriggled, reflexively pressing her legs together; Geralt shook his head.

“You know better than that.”  His voice—naturally deep already—dropped into a lower growl that made her entire body shudder.  She could almost feel it vibrate through her own bones.

She inhaled sharply when she felt his fingers tap across her hip, teasing, before curling inward to force her thighs apart.  So much strength in those hands… strong as her legs were, there was no resisting him.  He could hurt her easily, if he wanted to.  As it was, she wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises by the time he was through.

He drew little patterns on the sensitive skin of her thighs, watching her face as she struggled not to react.  He was enjoying tormenting her, drawing this out as slowly as he possibly could.  _Bastard._

“Wonder what your mother’d say if she could see you now?” he mused, with a bit of a smirk.

She knew exactly what the conservative old hag would say.  None of it was worth repeating, even if she had been able to speak.

Then his hand slid up to the cleft between her legs.  Her hips bucked as he stroked her, slowly at first, pressing his thumb in dizzying circles around her most sensitive part.  He chuckled again in that deep, very masculine way a man does when he’s certain of his prey.

“You know, I was expecting more of a fight,” he told her.  She could only mumble incoherently… not that it mattered.  He wouldn’t have understood her past the gag anyway.

He dropped his head to bring his lips to her neck.  The pressure of his fingers against her was more insistent now, faster and firmer.  In response, her breathing became shallow, her heart galloping along like a wild horse.  She could tell he noticed from the way his teeth closed over the large pulse in her neck.  A small cry escaped her when he bit down.  He didn’t draw blood, but sharp pressure against her skin was a reminder that he could.

He could do anything he wanted to her, and as long as she was like this, she couldn’t stop him.

But she had to stay focused.  His eyes were off her for now; she had to use this chance to her advantage.  She tugged again and again at the ropes, swearing internally as they continued to hold.

Geralt dropped to his knees suddenly, making her jerk with surprise.  Heat filled her cheeks as his golden eyes flickered up to meet hers.  She had seen that sort of dark look before; she knew exactly what it meant.  He smirked at her expression, and leaned forward to capture her with his mouth.

 _Gods_.  She couldn’t help it; she moaned past the gag, eyes rolling back as he explored her.  He slipped one finger inside her as he began to suck on her clit, pausing every few seconds to give a few quick flicks of his tongue.  It felt good enough that thoughts about anything else ceased.  Distantly, she could hear a low, self-satisfied rumble coming from his throat; the sound made all the muscles in her lower body tighten.

She was wet enough now that he was able to slip a second finger inside her.  Her body protested at first, just a little, but quickly adapted to extra width.  He worked his digits inside her, in and out, over and over again in a persistent rhythm as his mouth continued to suck and lick and pull needy little sounds out of her.  Nothing he did was rushed, as though he had all the time in the world.  Though, to his mind, he did.

She felt that vital pressure begin to build behind her belly and lower.  She started to lose control of her body, writhing against the beam as he devoured her.  Geralt had a certain reputation, as far as witchers go.  She could see now that it was with very good reason.

He grabbed her ass firmly with his free hand to press her more firmly into him, limiting almost all the movement of her hips.  She felt the edge of teeth again, that sharp roughness dragging over tender flesh, and that was what drove her over the edge.  She came screaming, and it was only the scarf around her face that kept passerby from assuming she was being murdered.

At the same time, she pulled down against the ropes, harder than she had before.  She finally felt her right hand slip free; as soon as her mind cleared she cut through her bindings, using the air itself like a knife.

Geralt reacted to the feel of the magic immediately, as she’d known he would.  He got to his feet quicker than thinking, reaching for her hands, but she was quicker.  A twist of the fingers, and there was a flash of terribly bright light.  It was a blinding spell; temporary, and generally for use on the battlefield.  It worked just fine in this instance.

Geralt stumbled back a step or two with a curse.  She turned for the hall; if she could put the stairs between the two of them, then she had a chance of making it through the study and out the front door.  She had underestimated the witcher’s capacity for recovery, though.  She hadn’t made it three steps when she felt strong, corded arms wrap around her waist.  Geralt lifted her bodily from the floor—not a challenging feat—and in the same motion flung her onto the bed.

She tried to react, but he was on her before she had the time to do more than lift her head.  The line of his body pressed against her back, his hands trapping hers over the mattress and blankets.  She still had the scarf over her mouth… damn it all.  She should’ve torn that off immediately after freeing herself. She had been so intent on making it to the stairs...

“That’s more like it,” he growled into her ear.  She could feel the long, hard length of his cock pressed against her rear.  The sensation made her writhe, torn between wanting to buck him off and push herself back onto it.  If she did the latter then he’d win, but gods was it tempting.

He shifted so that he could clench both of her hands in one of his own.  His free hand disappeared from her sight as he reached down to undo the lacing on the front of his trousers.

She rubbed her face against the blankets, using the mattress to help pull the scarf away from her mouth.  It took a couple tries but eventually it came loose.  She took in a few hasty gulps of air to replenish her voice, and opened her mouth to say the words to a force spell that would (hopefully) jostle them both enough to knock Geralt back.

What came out was a sharp cry instead.  Geralt chose that moment to plunge into her, sinking his full length into her body with one deep thrust.  He didn’t bother giving her time to adjust; he took his pleasure as fiercely as he did everything else.  All words, arcane and otherwise, became lost on her as his hips snapped against hers, setting a brutal pace that left her breathless.  It stung, but pain blurred around the edges into pleasure until there was no longer a difference between the two. 

He fucked her hard, and damn it she was loving every second of it.

The room was filled with their sounds, drowning out the rest of the night.  Her screams and whines (animalistic noises she hardly recognized), his groans and deeper growls, the slapping of flesh striking flesh, the creak of the wooden bed frame.  He used his knees to push her legs further apart, testing the limits of her flexibility.  He was so, so deep inside her.  She could feel a second orgasm building with every thrust, and yet somehow he was still going.  She had known that witchers could outmatch any normal human in endurance but hadn’t quite expected _this_ kind of stamina.

Her muscles wound tighter and tighter by the second.  Her hands fisted around the blankets beneath her, and then there came an unexpected moment of clarity.  The word for the spell erupted from her mouth in a scream as he plunged into her again.

The magic burst between them with a low _whump_ that left her ears ringing.  With her already pressed into the bed, it didn’t do much besides press her down further and cause the frame to ram rather loudly into the wall.  Geralt, on the other hand, was thrown backwards; she could feel the room shake as he collided with the support beam.  She had caught him by surprise, a rare moment. 

She couldn’t waste it.  She immediately whipped around and twisted her fingers in the air to cast an immobility spell.  It wouldn’t last long, especially not on a witcher, but it would give her a few seconds’ head start… that would be all she needed.

He watched her with a low growl of displeasure as she got to her feet.  “You’re going to pay for that, sorceress.”

Shira smirked and took just a moment to lean down to his level.  He was still rock-hard… probably painfully so, since he’d been on the verge of orgasm before she threw him off.  She carefully planted a quick kiss on his lips and flicked the tip of her tongue over his nose as she trailed her fingers along the length of his shaft.

“I certainly hope so.”

And then she was out the door.

She only had seconds left before he regained the use of his limbs, if that.  She didn’t bother trying to scramble down the stairs; instead she slid down the bannister on her hip, a habit which she had been heartily chastised for in her youth but which proved an invaluable skill now.  The solid bannister bore her weight easily.

She landed lightly on the hard wood floor and hesitated for the space of a heartbeat.  Running outside in her current state was inadvisable, at the least.  Heading deeper into the house could leave her trapped, but there were a few items in her study that could even the playing field a bit.  She just had to be able to reach them.

It took her only an instant to make the decision, but it was long enough.  She had just turned to run towards the back of the house when Geralt vaulted over the railing, landing inches in front of her with a solid _thump_.

Shira fell back onto her butt with a sharp, girlish yelp.  Watching nearly six feet of naked witcher leap down a flight of stairs just wasn’t something you saw every day.

“Thought that spell would’ve last longer,” she observed, her voice a breathy half-gasp as she tried to inch her way backwards.

In response, Geralt made a gesture that she recognized as one of the witcher signs.  Axii?

“You’re not going to try that again,” he commanded.  His voice resonated in her brain, thrumming like the beat of a drum.  It caused her thoughts to scatter.  She almost found herself agreeing, and then…

“Nice try.”  She shook her head to clear it and popped up to her feet, careful to back away another couple steps.  “Your little tricks won’t work on me.”

His eyes fixed on her with a predatory focus.  “I’ll just have to be a little more forceful, then.”

  _Oh, yes.  Please do._

They squared off for a moment, each waiting for the other to make a move.  Then Geralt lunged forward almost quicker than her eyes could track.  She whirled away with not even a hair’s breadth of space between her shift and his fingers. 

Her study was only a couple yards away.  Even so, she barely made it through the door before she felt Geralt catch her by the strap of her shift.  It tore and she couldn’t help but scream just a little in surprise as he yanked her back into his arms.

With an arm locked firmly around her waist, he dragged her over to the desk in the middle of the room.  He cleared all of the books and notes with a single sweep of his arm (something she’d be annoyed about later) and then bent her forcefully over the smooth surface, one hand knotted in her hair.

“That was a clever trick,” he told her, his voice low at her ear.  “You try anything like that again and you’ll regret it.  Understand?”

“Yes,” she breathed, feeling the cool wood press against her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“Good.”

He kicked her legs apart, as far as they would go without her falling; she felt the blunt head of his cock slide against her, rubbing against her clit as he prepared to enter her again.  Gods, it felt so good.  She had no more intentions of fighting, not anymore.  Now she just wanted him to fuck her until neither of them could stand.

She felt his fingers fist around the fabric at her back, and gasped when he ripped the entire garment in two.  It fell onto the floor in tatters, leaving her completely bare before him, and she didn’t care.  She had others.

She prepared herself to feel him drive into her, and yelped when she felt the stinging slap of his hand against her rear instead.

“Geralt, what-?!”

He chuckled behind her.  “You thought you were getting off that easily, did you?”

He spanked her again, this time on the opposite cheek.  She cried out a second time and reflexively tried to twist herself free, but he had her pinned.

She turned her head to glare at him.  “You try that again and I’ll-”

His hand struck her a third time.  Then he finally thrust forward into her, cutting off the rest of her threat before it could leave her lips.

Words dissolved into moans as Geralt plunged in and out of her.  Each thrust had enough force to shift the desk forward—and the blasted thing was made of _mahogany_.

He legs began to shake as he drove mercilessly into her.  At one point he paused and shifted his angle, just slightly, and within another couple strokes she came for a second time.  Her nails scratched down the surface of the desk as the orgasm tore through her body, pushing screams from her throat as she rode wave after wave of pleasure.

Geralt’s motions got faster as she trembled and jerked until there was no longer enough time to gasp for breath between thrusts.  He pulled back on her hips, driving himself deeper inside her, and then a savage growl burst out of him.  She felt him spill himself inside her, filling her up with himself until there was no room for anything else.

He pressed into her a few times more, lingering in the sensation of the aftershocks while his cock softened once again.  He was no longer pinning her down, but Shira stayed draped over the top of her desk, not altogether certain that her legs would bear her weight just yet.

“Gods,” she sighed, catching her breath.  “I had heard a night with you would be worth my while, but I hadn’t imagined…”

Behind her, Geralt gave a low, very masculine chuckle.  He gently brought her to her feet, and when she wobbled he lifted her up to sit on top of the desk.

“I didn’t expect all that from a pampered city girl,” he remarked.  His eyes seemed to glow in the night, tracking the expressions on her face intently.

Shira gave a small snort.  “Appearances are often deceiving.”  She glanced then at the window, noting the still-dark sky outside.  “Hmm, it seems we have hours left to go.”

He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow at her.  “Are you sure you’re-”

She cut him off by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him forward against her.  She captured his lips in a long, deep kiss.

“Let’s head back upstairs,” she murmured breathlessly, when she finally released him.  She shifted back just enough so that she could look him in the eye, mischief lighting up her features in a playful smirk.  “And this time it’s my turn.”

 


End file.
